


Existential crisis

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Existential Crisis, M/M, Random - Freeform, extremely short, idk - Freeform, stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 18:18:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8171221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Needless to say, Aziraphale was more than a little surprised to see Crowley lying face down on the floor of his flat’s slim hallway.





	

**Author's Note:**

> In which Crowley has an existential crisis. Queue Aziraphale to save the day.

Needless to say, Aziraphale was more than a little surprised to see Crowley lying face down on the floor of his flat’s slim hallway.

  
“Crowley?” he exclaimed, nearly dropping the book he was holding. “My dear, what on Earth is the matter?”

  
Crowley sighed, and simply said, “Life is pointless.” His glasses lay haphazardly on the ground, exposing his glowing yellow eyes. They cast a faint light on the walls around him, tinting the white paint amber.

  
The angel frowned. “What do you mean by that?” Crowley just shook his head. “I can’t explain it. Not to you.”

  
Aziraphale sat down readily, placing his book down and tilting his head. “Try me.”

  
The demon blinked dubiously at the angel, then started to talk. “Well, it’s just – I’m not really doing anything, if you get what I mean. I-”

  
Aziraphale cut him off. “But you’ve done plenty of things, Crowley,” he said, confused. “You even stopped Armageddon, for Heaven’s sake. That’s definitely doing something.”

  
With a frustrated sigh, Crowley lowered his head. “But I didn’t even do anything!” He sighed. “Adam was the only one who actually did something.”

  
Aziraphale frowned, and stared, confused, at Crowley. It almost seemed as if he were – sad. But that was impossible. Demons didn’t have emotions. At least, Crowley didn’t seem to.

  
“I’m just so pointless,” Crowley muttered. “I do nothing. I’m not even a proper demon. I don’t do proper evil. It’s all just petty mischief, just an inconvenience to people. The one job where I’m just supposed to be bad, and I still can’t do it.”

  
The angel stared firmly into the demon’s glum eyes. “You’re not useless, Crowley. Far from it,” he stated. “In fact,” he whispered, as if he were telling his darkest secret, “You’ve tempted me rather more times than I would like to admit.”

  
Crowley started to look slightly less glum. “Really?” he asked, surprised. The angel blushed.

  
“I really hope Heaven didn’t hear that,” he giggled. “Yes, you foul serpent, you’re too good at what you do. You have tempted me too many times.”

  
Crowley started to smile, his grand demeanor gradually returning. He sat up, putting his glasses back on. Aziraphale fumbled with his book, glaring at Crowley. “You made me lose my page!” he pouted. The demon laughed. Leaning over the angel’s shoulder, he peered at the book, squinting at the words.

  
Seeing Aziraphale blush furiously, he leaned back, resting against the wall. He’d never really been one for books, anyway. He preferred the sin of television.  
Aziraphale moved next to Crowley, settling down comfortably. He began to read, resting his head on Crowley’s shoulder.

  
They sat, together, on the floor. Crowley stole a glance at Aziraphale, ever grateful to have the angel at his side, whenever he felt whatever version of sad a demon could.  
Perhaps they were both bad at their jobs. Perhaps they really didn’t do anything helpful to stop Armageddon. And perhaps they were both useless.

  
Crowley shrugged. Whatever. Being useless was alright, in the end, if you had an angel with you to help.


End file.
